Okay,
so I know it’s not July yet, but close enough.
I also know that the whole idea of new birth is gaining a ton of life in
me these days. Mostly because I feel
like it’s what God is inviting me to―a quality and depth of life that I have
not yet known. In fact, it’s what he’s
inviting all of us to. It’s the way that
he’s doing it that’s surprising, although it should not be. The way to this new life is through my weakness,
frailty, and vulnerability. It’s coming
through embracing my humanity. It’s
coming, as Sue Monk Kidd so beautifully writes, through the dung and the straw:
“In the passage of emergence, as birthing
begins, the soul becomes a nativity. The
whole Bethlehem pageant starts up inside us.
An unprecedented new star shines in our darkness―a new illumination and
awareness. God sends Wisdom to visit us,
bearing gifts. The shepherding qualities
inside us are summoned to help tend what’s being born. The angels sing and a whole new music begins
to float in the spheres. Some new
living, breathing dimension of the life of Christ emerges with a tiny cry that
says, I am.
One of the best parts of the whole drama
is that it happens in the dung and straw of our life, just as it happened in
the dung and straw of Bethlehem. Birthing Christ is an experience of humility.
Emerging to newness after the rigors of the cocoon isn’t a spiritual
‘promotion.’ There’s no presentation of a twenty-four-carat halo and a fancy
new Christian persona without scuffs. If we’re consumed with holy pride,
convinced that we’re spiritually ‘right’ and on a higher plane than others, we
haven’t birthed a wider experience of the inner Christ but a new creation of
the ego.
The Christ life doesn’t divorce us from our humanity: it
causes us to embrace it. It makes us more human. It humbles us. Genuine
transformation always connects us to our essential nature, both sacred and
profane. When we go through its passages, we plumb the depths of our humanity.
We become intimate with what lies inside—the wild and untamed, the orphaned and
abused, the soiled and unredeemed. We hold our falseness in our hands and trace
our fingers over the masks we wear, like a blind person feeling the unseen
faces of those she wants to know. We stare into the sockets of our pain and
glimpse the naked truth of who we are.
All this we bring with us into the new life. It ushers us
into a new humility. Oh, yes, no doubt about it. We birth Christ, on a pile of
ordinary straw.” (from When the Heart Waits by Sue Monk Kidd)
Christ wants to be born anew in us, but that new birth is most likely to come in
our places of greatest weakness and vulnerability. In the dung and in the straw
of our own humanity. In our flaws and in
our frailty, that's where his transforming power shows up best.
Lord Jesus, in this world we
are most likely to find you in the dung and the straw. Help us not to be afraid to look for you
there.
